


Face Painting

by paulsrubbersoul



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, One Shot, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 23:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7409629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulsrubbersoul/pseuds/paulsrubbersoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after they first met, John and Paul are back at Liverpool's annual garden fete but John quickly becomes bored; that is, until Paul sees a face painting stall. A McLennon one-shot written by me (thanks for the idea Caroline!), set in 1958.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Face Painting

**Author's Note:**

> Again, thanks to my good friend Caroline for giving me the idea for this fic, and happy McLennon Day 2016! This is the first fic I've seriously written in YEARS, and my first Beatle fic, so I hope you enjoy it!

July 5th, 1958. St. Peter’s Church, Woolton, Liverpool, England.

The annual garden fete was the highlight of the year for many of the sleepy port city’s residents, and rightfully so. Along with music, there were craft and cake stalls, police dog demonstrations, and the traditional crowing of the Rose Queen, which went together perfectly with the sunny skies. Among the crowd were two teenage boys who looked no different among a sea of young men currently caught up in the skiffle scene, but the fete was special to them.

“So, John,” Paul McCartney, the younger of the two, said to his mate John Lennon. “What do you wanna do?”

John shrugged and took a drag of a cigarette. Now that he was 17, the garden fetes weren’t as fun as they were when he was a kid, but he only came because Paul begged him to. “I dunno Paul, I didn’t even wanna come here but you forced me to.”

Paul sighed. “John, you know why I wanted you to come this year – hey, look!”

John squinted his eyes to try to find whatever Paul was talking about (he didn’t bring his glasses, of course), but the sound of music directed him to a lorry with a local skiffle group playing on it. Ever since the skiffle craze began in England a few years ago, it seemed like there was a band playing almost anywhere you went, and John and Paul knew that all too well; they had their own group, the Quarrymen.

“Eh… they’re rubbish.” He stepped on his cigarette butt and continued to observe the group. “The singer sounds like a dying cat and the guitar player is off.”

Paul laughed. “Y’know John, you’re one to talk, considering last year you could hardly remember the words to what you were singing and I had to teach you how to tune a guitar. Who’s rubbish now?”

“Hey,” John scorned, getting defensive of himself. “If I’m rubbish, so are you ‘cause I let you join me band. And when I played I was pretty damn good if you ask me.”

The hazel eyed boy laughed some more before walking around to find something to do. “ _Sure_ , John. And I only wanted you to look at them to remind you that that was you a year ago, y’know. Do you remember how we met?” He asked, smiling softly at John. The two ‘friends’ were actually lovers, but kept it a secret from everyone due to the backlash they’d receive for being two males in love.

“Of course I do.” A blush began creeping on John’s face. “Me band was playing, and you were _oh so impressed_ by how good I played and how handsome I am that you couldn’t help but beg to join me ‘till I said yes.” He chuckled, smirking at his fabricated version of what happened.

Paul elbowed John in the stomach, not hard enough to cause pain, but just enough so that he could feel it. “Oh shut it you wanker, you know that’s not what happened.” He said with false anger in his voice, turning away from him. Folding his arms, Paul gave his boyfriend the silent treatment, looking around the fete until his eyes lit up. There was a face painting stall not far from where they were! Perfect.

“John,” Paul suddenly said, tugging at his arm. “Look, there’s face painting over there! Come on,” He said, literally dragging John over to where it was. At the moment, there were two little girls giggling and painting butterflies on each other, but they were practically finished.

John scoffed. “What the hell Paul, do I look five? There’s no way I’m letting you paint me bloody face like that.” He tried to keep his feet planted in the ground so he wouldn’t move but it was no use. If Paul really wanted to do something, no one was going to stop him.

“Johnny, please,” Paul said, looking at John with puppy dog eyes. There was no way John would say no now. Whenever Paul looked at John like that, with his big, down turned hazel eyes, he could get almost anything he wanted. “You can wash it off later anyway.”

“Tch… fine, Paul. Just stop looking at me like a poof.” This time, it was John who began to bring Paul over to the stall, walking quickly in an attempt to not draw attention to them. John was always careful to not show any PDA, and for a good reason. If it was discovered that you were gay (or just not straight, for that matter), you could be reported to the police and be sent to jail, which was the last thing he wanted for the sake of his band.

“John, I’m not a poof. Now come on, sit down,” Paul said, bringing John over to a chair in front of the face painting stall. He gave a ticket to the woman operating it and grabbed some paint and brushes.

Smirking, John replied under his breath (but loud enough for Paul to hear), “You say you’re not queer but you couldn’t keep your hands off me the other night.” which earned him another hit from his boyfriend.

“I still like girls too, y’know, I just happen to like you more, but that doesn’t make me a queer. Now, turn your head so I can paint on you.” Paul gently cupped the side of John’s face with his right hand and turned him around so that the older male was directly facing him, their eyes locking for a moment which caused John to blush like mad.

“Get on with it already, will you?” John huffed, clearly embarrassed. The truth was that if he could, he would look at Paul all day, but because they were in public he didn’t want anyone to think anything of them. Glancing over his side, the woman who was running the stall was gone (probably for a bathroom break), so it was just the two of them.

“Fine.” Grabbing a paintbrush with his left hand, Paul dipped it in water and into some black paint. Now that they were at the stall, he actually had no idea what to paint on John. Thinking, his mind was blank until he remembered the butterflies the girls before them were painting. Of course!

Smirking, he lifted the brush to John’s face, almost making contact with his skin until he suddenly froze where he was standing.

 _Dom dom dom, dom-be-dooby-dom_  
_Dom dom dom dom, dom-be-dooby-dom_  
_Dom dom dom dom, dom-be-dooby-dom_  
_Wah, wah, wah, wah_

Paul looked John in the face, his heart beating faster. “John, the group up there… they’re playing ‘Come Go With Me’. That’s what you were playing when I first saw you perform.”

John tensed up. “Is that so? Well… they suck anyway, just keep going.”

 _Well, I love, love you, darlin'_  
_Come and go with me_  
_Come go with me_  
_Way beyond the sea_  
_I need you, darlin'_  
_So come go with me_

Paul couldn’t help but smile as the song brought back memories of when he saw John perform on the day they met; July 6th , 1957, the year before. Sure, John messed up half of the words to the song, but something about him immediately caught Paul’s eye and he wanted to join his group. Not only to say he was officially apart of a band, but so he could be with John and learn more about the man behind The Quarrymen.

And after all of that, here they are as lovers a year later. Lovers in secret, but still lovers.

“Come, come, come, come, come into my heart, tell me, darlin', we will never part, I need you, darlin', so come go with me…” He began singing along to the song, gazing lovingly into John’s brown eyes.

John stared right back at Paul, shifting in his chair before becoming lost in Paul’s eyes. When they met for the first time, his eyes were what stood out to him the most. How a man could have such, big, beautiful doe eyes and not look like a fool was beyond John.

“Yes, I need you, yes, I really need you, please say you'll never leave me,” A smile crept on the auburn haired teen’s face before he knew it, and him and Paul were looking at each other like schoolgirls in love (well, school _boys_ in this case). “Well, say you never, yes, you really never, you never give me a chance, oh…”

Paul let go of his boyfriend’s face and moved his hand down to his, lightly caressing the top of John’s hand with his fingers. John responded by tenderly grabbing his love’s hand and placing it in his lap so that Paul’s body in front of him would block anyone from seeing them holding hands. John shivered as he felt the wet brush glide across his cheek, squeezing Paul’s hand tighter and giving him a look that said ‘I love you and I trust you enough to not draw a dick on my face’. Paul chuckled at him and continued on.

 _Love, love you, darlin'_  
_Come and go with me_  
_Come go with me_  
_Way beyond the sea_  
_I need you, darlin'_  
_So come go with me_  
_Come on, go with me_  
_Come on, go with me_

The song was finished, and so was Paul. Quickly pecking a kiss on John’s cheek, he stepped back and handed him a mirror. “So, what do ya think?” He smiled with pride at his work, hoping John would like it.

John stared at himself for a moment before putting down the mirror and looking up at Paul. “You… you drew a fucking _butterfly_ on me?” He was horrified. No, he didn’t actually hate it, he thought it was quite nice. The butterfly’s wings were painted with green and blue (representing him and Paul’s favorite colors, respectively) with white music notes, and it looked neat considering Paul did it fairly quickly. It was just that John was so afraid that someone would find out about his sexuality that the last thing he wanted on his face was a butterfly, something a straight man would never be seen with. According to him, that is. “Paul, I…I can’t let anyone see me like this!”

“If you don’t like it just tell me.” Paul said, frowning and folding his arms. “Is it really that bad?”

“No, I like it, it’s just everyone will think I’m queer with this on me face! If one of me friends sees me-”

As soon as he said that, John turned around to see his best friend and fellow band mate, Peter Shotton, in front of him. How much had he heard?

“Fuck,” He said under his breath, immediately wiping the fresh paint off his face with his white jacket sleeve, not caring that Aunt Mimi would scold him for ruining it. “P-Peter, when’d you get here?”

John’s blond friend waved at Paul, but stared at John with confusion. “Oh, I thought I’d come to the fete this year to pick up a bird maybe but… are you okay?”

John laughed nervously, unaware of the mess of paint that was on his face. “I… I just spilled some food on me face, that’s all!” He turned over to his boyfriend, giving him a ‘let’s get the hell out of here’ look before grabbing his arm quite roughly. “And me and Paulie here were just leaving. We’ve been out all day and I need to clean this thing before Mimi sees anyway. See you later!”

With that, he practically ran out of the church garden with a very bewildered Paul for about five minutes until they had arrived at 251 Menlove Avenue, John’s house. Panting like a dog, John burst the door open (Mimi was out with friends) and pulled an exhausted Paul to his room, flopping on the bed with him.

“Well, Paul,” he said, breathing heavily. “You should thank me for getting us out of there before Pete got suspicious.” The brunette said, beaming at Paul who was lying across from him.

God, who knew how cute he could look while tired and sweaty.

“John, you probably made him more suspicious than he already was by dragging me off like that.” He said, sitting himself up. “And take off your jacket, it looks awful now.” Paul slowly removed the jacket from John’s body and noticed just how sweaty he was, so he also unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the floor, exposing his bare chest. Damn, he was hot.

“Oh, you want me that badly, do you McCartney?” John sneered, snaking his arms around Paul’s waist and pulling him down closer until their noses were touching. “You’re so queer that you took off me shirt as soon as we got into bed.”

“Piss off John, and for the last time I am _not_ queer.” Paul looked away in shame, but John was partially right. He took his jacket off for a good reason, but removing his shirt wasn’t necessary. If anything, Paul just wanted to have his partner all to himself while they still were alone. “And I only took off your shirt because it was sweaty and-”

He was cut off by John’s rough lips colliding with his, making him forget about any excuse he had in his head. A small trail of saliva connected their lips when a grinning John pulled away, impressed that he had been able to silence Paul so quickly.

“Just shut up and make love to me already, you idiot.” He said, turning them so Paul was below him and locking their lips into yet another passionate kiss. “I love you Macca, and don’t you ever forget that.” John muttered, moving his mouth to his boyfriend’s neck and exploring Paul’s skin with his tongue.

“I-I love you too John...” Paul quietly moaned, wrapping his arms around John’s body and embracing his lover.

The garden fete was fun, but this was so much better.


End file.
